There are three things that I think of every single day: death, him, and poetry.
Top Shelf
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The Vocalist The rest could only imitate what he alone and all alone could do: sustain, vibrate, reach unnamed colors of the soundscape. ...
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Pulse (A love poem) In the beginning was a pulse that came right before any breath to birth a song or a word. It throbs even as the music...
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Pictures to Show The article calls for being present. That instead of taking photos of the bee Sucking on sunflower, Lock your eyes ... -
So I have gotten into the habit of recording my piano practices because reasons (that have got to do with skills development and, admittedl...
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Everyday view from the kitchen window You read your horoscope and think it can apply to literally anyone in the world. Then you go deeper ... -
Prelude Let's make work of beginnings. Think prelude, how the masters leave little worlds on their own till one is found by acc...
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None of the Lights I answered with reluctance when you invited me to a bonfire by the beach with young girls and a local who, despite her ...
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Superboy! You have a liking for high places Dissecting plain skies Looking down on people Dissolving into borders Because you wish to fly...
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Appropriate, to the level of cliché, that the first blog of the year features a prelude. In TV-series tradition, a brief recap of 202...
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Modiano, Patrick. The Black Notebook. Mariner, 2016. My favorite bookstagrammer (is that how you call them?) told me that "[Patrick...
